Not Her Picture
by kittikat8531
Summary: He's left behind everything else again and again, but this one last thing he can't get rid of. Implied SkyeWard, possibly one-sided. Complete one-shot drabble. Please R&R.


AN: This short story is brought to you by John Michael Montgomery's "That's Not Her Picture" and has been floating around my head since it came on after the season 1 finale. I finally got around to writing it. To be fair, I'm not a major SkyeWard shipper (I didn't care at all till we found out he was HYDRA). Hopefully you like it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Agents of SHIELD or any of the Marvel affiliates.

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Grant Ward had mastered the ability to disappear.

What little security SHIELD had been able to muster for his imprisonment had proven less than effective. All it took was a few sessions with the provided therapist to convince her he was just a lost, damaged boy. As soon as she believed it, they started to lighten up and he was in the wind. He hadn't stopped long enough to be found in years.

Given the varied and useful skills he'd learned as a SHIELD and HYDRA operative, he could have vanished so thoroughly as to never tip off SHIELD's radar again, but he still hadn't been able to do that. His lingering attachment to Skye kept him leaving little tips behind, not enough to pose a real threat but enough to keep her looking. He always moved on before they could get too close.

For the moment, he'd stopped in a small town and paid his way with a temporary construction job. He was qualified for better work, but that would be too much for SHIELD to trace. It wasn't unusual for someone passing through, so he drew no real attention.

Every time Ward changed locations, he also got rid of whatever few belongings he might have acquired, and this town was no different. Any little thing, no matter how insignificant, could be traced back to him if he wasn't careful, and he didn't want to have to deal with prison again. He stopped in a tiny general store just outside of town to collect what he needed to start over. Grabbing a weak little wallet to add to his general impression of being a down-on-his-luck stranger, it fell open as he tossed it in his basket. A too-familiar face stared up at him.

It was Skye. Not really, of course, since she was a literal illegal alien working for a clandestine organization that most people considered terrorists. The girl in the photo still bore an uncanny resemblance to the woman he'd loved and never had a chance to lose. It was the hair, to an extent, but it was mostly the curve of her smile and the way her eyes seemed to bore right through him. He hurriedly closed the flimsy billfold, but after a moment's hesitation he decided not to exchange it for a different one. He'd never had a picture of the real woman. He'd take a convincing fake.

Despite his conviction that physical possessions were pointless, Ward carried that little photo through several more towns and jobs. He even weakened enough to look at it regularly, and eventually one of the men on his newest crew noticed.

"She your girl? From back home?"

"She might've been," he answered after a second. "Before. And I haven't had a home since I was a kid."

The few who'd tried to reach out for him had eventually assumed, from his silence and his scars, that he'd seen more than a few wars. He didn't dissuade them of the notion.

"Did she serve too?" the older man asked with quiet sympathy.

"No. I knew her during my last round. We almost had something, but I did something terrible and that was it. The last time I saw her she hated me."

"War makes a man do awful things," a second coworker supplied with a sage nod. "Maybe if you tell the girly that, she'll understand."

Ward shook his head. "She probably would've forgiven me then if I'd been able to tell her I regretted it."

"Did you?"

"No." He rubbed his thumb over the plastic-covered picture. "This isn't even really her. It just looks the same. I don't have anything else."

A shrill whistle indicated the end of their break. Ward pocketed the photo and stood. He'd been too free with his words; it was time to move again.

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AN: It's shorter than anything I've posted before, but I thought it ended in a good place. I hope people enjoy reading this, so please let me know what you thought. I'll take whatever you've got as long as it's not pointlessly rude. Thanks!


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